From the Perspective of a Forgotten Ring
by B Michi
Summary: In the Maloney house routine was essential, but when that routine is broken, so are the conditioned minds of those within it. This is the story of the Lamb to the Slaughter, from my view. The perspective of a forgotten ring. One-Shot


**Hello there! **

**_IMPORTANT NOTICE!_This is a retelling of Lamb to the Slaughter by Roald Dahl through the POV of the wedding ring on Mary Maloney's finger. If you haven't read the original story this will still make sense, but it does skip a few parts that Roald Dahl wrote making this fic just a bit less true to the actual story. **

**But anyway, it was an English project and I decided it was a decent enough story to put up on here! XD Enjoy!**

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The Story of a Forgotten Ring

I rested easily on the finger of Mary Maloney, as I had every day since her marriage. The room was clean, the lamps alight, and I moved in motion with Mary's hands as she sewed. This was normal of course, her pattern had never swayed slightly in its proceedings over the years. She had overcome a change over the months, a child growing inside her, quite noticeable now as she was in her sixth month. I heard the car pulling up the gravel and knew the clock read five to ten; it always did. The room slipped by quickly as Mary put down her sewing and I moved again with her as she walked to her husband with her usual greeting. A kiss and an eloquent "Hullo darling."

Patrick Maloney responded in kind with the expected "Hullo" as he moved for his chair. I lost sight of him for a moment there, as Mary turned and began preparing drinks, as per routine. I had had no thought that anything was wrong. Not for some time. The silence in the room engulfed them, and again I was caught in the motion of Mary's hands as she resumed sewing. I didn't begin to suspect until the pattern change so minutely that I had almost not noticed.

I occurred shortly after Mary asked politely "Tired darling?"

There had been nothing wrong in the short question, but the response that had me worrying. Patrick quickly responded "Yes. I'm tired," and drained the remaining half of his whiskey; this he never did. I watched surprised as he got up and moved to pour himself another drink; startling when Mary quickly jump up and I became temporarily disoriented. As I was refocussing I listened carefully to the conversation between the pair. Hearing only Patrick's terse response to Mary's move to get the drink for him, "Sit down."

I watched anxiously, knowing that something wrong was afoot. I could not see what he was doing but I could hear the glass, that Patrick held, whisper "It's the Dark Amber."

I worried at that statement. The so called Dark Amber was what we had referred to the heavier whiskey, for none of us could read the words printed on the bottle. I tuned out the whispers of the others in the room, the clock, and the lamps, and the chairs, instead I watched carefully as Patrick returned, noticing his slow movements and the way he avoided looking at Mary.

I felt Mary shift slightly, before she broke through the crowd of whispers, "Darling, shall I get your slippers?"

The room silence at that, waiting quietly for a response. A response which seemed to take forever, but was truly uttered only a moment after the question was posed. The brusque response was a simple "No."

The others in the room did not speak again, waiting like me to see how the scene would play out.

I could feel the tension in the room, and anxiously watched, helpless, as Mary spoke, not yet overly concerned about the situation that was so plain to the others and me.

"I think it's a shame" she said, "that when a policeman gets to be as senior as you, they keep him walking about on his feet all day long."

I waited for an answer, but found one was not forthcoming, as Mary returned to her stitching. I grew uneasy, even as the repetitive motions of Mary's hands eased the effects of the tension slightly. Only slightly.

With the motions moving me constantly I chose to keep my eyes trained on Patrick alone, trying to give my mind some relief, but relief did not come. Instead I grew more nervous as Patrick Maloney drank even more, dark amber, until finally Mary spoke, continuing to stitch as she did so, "Darling," she said. "Would you like me to get you some cheese? I haven't made any supper because it's Thursday."

The question was again responded to with a gruff "No."

And so I listened as Mary stated with care "If you're too tired to eat out, it's still not too late. There's plenty of meat in the freezer, and you can have it right here and not even move out of the chair." Poor Mary had yet to see the danger though, so eager was she to please he husband, but even I could sense when she started to become uneasy. With her husband only nodding in response to the question she simply said "Anyway, I'll get you some cheese and crackers first."

"I don't want it" Patrick said, and the tension grew quickly.

"But darling," Mary said. "You _must _have supper. I can easily do it here. I'd like to do it. We can have lamb chops. Or pork. Anything you want. Everything's in the freezer."

"Forget it," he said.

"But darling," Mary implored, and if I could have stopped her I would have, but I could do nothing as she continued. "You _must _eat! I'll fix it anyway, and then you can have it or not, as you like.

As Mary stood up, I went with her watching Patrick closely still, and seeing what Mary did not see; the slight drawing together of his eyebrows, the tightening of his lips and jaw, just as he replied quite agitatedly "Sit down. Just for a minute. Sit down." And I think then was when Mary Maloney realized the danger she was in, for she froze and stared at Patrick, and her hands started to shake imperceptibly, but still I felt the tremors. And I watched, useless, as Patrick repeated, "Go on. Sit down," and Mary slowly, so very slowly sat back down.

Mary placed her other hand on top of the one which I rested on, and I was made blind to the proceedings in the room; depending solely on that which I could hear through the hand which muffled their voices. Vaguely I could make out Patrick saying something about needing to tell Mary something. But I regret to say I could hear very little else until Mary removed her hand and stood up, whispering out "I'll get the supper."

I do not know what Patrick said to the woman who loved him more than anything, but I imagine it must have been terrible, for the next thing I knew, Mary was returning with a leg of lamb and walking calmly over to Patrick. I was horrified as Patrick said "For heaven's sake. Don't make supper for me. I'm going out," and Mary just crept closer and closer. I was lifter up with the oblivious ham and then brought down at such a speed and with such force I saw nothing but spinning colors meshed together. I heard a crack as the frozen ham leg connected with Patrick's head.

When I was able to focus again after the ordeal, Patrick lay dead on the floor, and Mary was walking into the kitchen. I would later think back, and say "If Patrick had only looked back at his wife, then perhaps this would not have happened."

I could only be a bystander in what happened next, as Mary through the ham into a pan in the oven, and ran to her bedroom, where she put up her hair, and practice the same words over and over again in front of the mirror.

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I soon discovered the purpose of the rehearsal, as Mary walked to the grocery shop and brightly said "Hullo Sam."

"Why, good evening, Mrs. Maloney," he responded in surprise. "How're _you_."

"I want some potatoes, Sam. Yes, and I think a can of peas." I thought for a moment that maybe Sam would catch Mary's slip in not answering his question, but he did not, and instead turned to reach onto a shelf for the peas. At the same time Mary continued speaking.

"Patrick's decided he's tired and doesn't want to eat out tonight," she said. "We usually go our Thursday's, you know, and now he's caught me without any vegetables in the house."

I briefly wondered, how Mary could lie so easily; the words seemingly flowing from her mouth like water.

"Then how about meat, Mrs. Maloney?" Sam asked.

"No, I've got meat, thanks. I got a nice leg of lamb from the freezer."

"Oh." Sam eloquently replied.

"I don't much like cooking it frozen, Sam, but I'm taking a chance on it this time. You think it'll be alright?" Mary sounded so honestly worried, that if I hadn't known any better, I would have believed each word that issued from her lips.

"Personally," said Sam, "I don't believe it makes any difference. You want these Idaho potatoes?"

"Oh yes, that'll be fine. Two of those."

"Anything else?" I watched as the grocer cocked his head, and asked pleasantly, "How about afterwards? What you going to give him afterwards?"

I thought that perhaps this question would trip her up, but Mary took it all in stride, and I once again watched, unable to do anything as Mary responded; asking Sam if his opinion. Mary agreed with Sam's proposal of cheesecake, which Patrick had loved so much… 'had'. Only a few minutes after Mary had killed her husband, and I was using the past tense to describe him. Granted Patrick had always been a bit self-important, but still it shocked me.

When I turned my attention from my thoughts and back to the conversation at hand, I realized that Sam and Mary were saying their goodbye's, and suddenly the world was in motion again.

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When Mary reentered the house, I was slightly disturbed. She had been humming cheerfully on the walk home, and was by now smiling as she came into the kitchen. She cheerfully announced her presence with a bright call of "Patrick! How are you darling?" It seemed to me as if Mary Maloney had completely forgotten he whole ordeal. And perhaps she had. It was possible of course, that Mary had completely suppressed the memories of the incident and instead believed a new one, with which she had replaced them.

The situation grew worse as Mary walked into the living room, and seeing Patrick, ran to his side and began crying. It was some time before she got up, and called the police with whom Patrick had worked. Not long after the call had gone out, had the police shown up at the house, and began investigating the premises. I was once again thrown into a state of disorientation though, as Mary threw herself at one of the officers, and began to weep.

By the time I had been able to make sense of what I was seeing again, I knew something had happened, for now Mrs. Maloney was sitting in the chair, and more men began to arrive on the scene.

The house was filled with whispering and muttering as people speculated about what happened. The glass which still sat idly by tried to tell the officers what had happened, despite knowing the words would not be heard. And then they began questioning Mary, one detective sneaking out to find Sam the grocer. The officers did not seem to suspect Mary at all, and I grew agitated that they could not see what was in front of them.

That feeling later intensified as Mary persuaded the officers to drink the whiskey, and eat the lamb leg, and as they ate the meat, one announced "Probably right under our very noses." And I am afraid to say that no one would ever discover the truth of the officers words.

So now I sit here, left behind in the home the Mary Maloney left, for she "could not bear to live in the home in which her husband died". Discarded, and with only one story to tell: The story of a Lamb to the Slaughter.

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**So that's the end of that story. Hope it was worth the time reading it! XD Please Review!**

**Also to anyone hoping for an update in a _A Twist in Destiny_ I am working more on the plot, and may continue it, however it will be some time before I post any more chapters for it. **


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